


Moments Between - [a Liv/Helen fic collection]

by moondoor_majesty



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: 'Liv flying things is hot' fic, (at the Baker Street place), Angst and Feels, Christmas Fluff, Clothing Kink, F/F, Fluff, Glasses kink, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Shower Sex, TARDIS Console Sex, There Is... actually more than one bed. And yet..., Wall Sex, Yet more fluff, canadian shack (kind of), kissing under mistletoe, of a light h/c variety, once more with moodboards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moondoor_majesty/pseuds/moondoor_majesty
Summary: A pile of unrelated Liv/Helen fics of various lengths, ratings, and genres, several of which have moodboards, and quite a few of which are just blatant excuses to make them have sex in a variety of locations (Some ye olde pub's hotel room! The TARDIS console room! A Canadian Shack! A shower! Very nearly in... several slightly inappropriate public spaces!).





	1. A Matter of Timing - M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I think that's what Liv is wearing in the fic? No, not remotely. But it's not like Nicola has done a lot of period roles, aside from Moll Flanders quite a while ago, so... 'Gillian's wedding dress looks vaguely fancy enough, right?' will have to do. I had about two images saved in a folder, and aimed to fill in the rest with 'well, I remember this fic takes place in the fall and in a pub in historic London, before they shag against a wall, so...?'

* * *

They don’t have time for much, when they’re changing, in the TARDIS.

Just enough time for Helen to run her fingers up along Liv’s spine, as she helps her with the lacing at the back of her dress. And then to follow that with a trail of kisses, starting between her shoulder blades and settling at the back of Liv’s neck, while Liv arcs into her, and makes these slight, appreciative noises.

It’s enough to make Helen desperately want to carry on, and draw _all_ the noises out of Liv, if Helen were to move to the other side of her, to push aside the layers of skirt, and to put her mouth where her hand had started to wander.

But they can’t, right now. It’s only supposed to be a quick change into something that won’t make them look so out of place, before rushing back out into seventeenth Century London. Anything else will have to wait.

**

They have even less time, a few hours later – when Liv, thinking fast, pushes Helen against the rough brick side of a building, and flattens herself against her, to keep from being spotted by the equally-not-from-this-era person they’d been tailing. They’re concealed from view, sort of, though they can still make out what’s going on, down the street. He appears to be waiting at a warehouse door, now.

Though, as much as Liv’s paying attention to the highly suspicious man-jellyfish-being, there there’s also Helen. Who’s warm, against her, especially in contrast to this chill, early-evening fall air, and who’s looking far too good in this era’s impractical (if alluring) styles.

She hasn’t forgotten what they’d started, in the wardrobe room. Helen hasn’t, either. Because between keeping an eye out for where the man’s going, they keep looking back at each other. Liv’s staring at Helen’s mouth a bit too much, and before she knows it, she’s kissing her, for long as they can chance it.

It isn’t that long. Not nearly as long as she’d like. Because there’s a sound within the warehouse – not your usual warehouse sound, something far more unearthly – and they’re brought back to the fact that they’re in the middle of something, and really shouldn’t be making out against the side of a shop, right now.

**

“Is he going to be a while with that?” Helen asks, later still.

The sun’s gone fully down, and the pub they’re in is packed. It’s odd, the more people there are in here, the less anyone seems to notice the fact that, at a table in one somewhat-discreet alcove, there’s a man running a sonic screwdriver over a block of polished metal, etched in a strange runes that none of them can decode – not even with the TARDIS’s translator their heads. It’s what made the noise, in the warehouse. Though, it hasn’t done anything in hours.

“Most likely,” Liv replies. One of her hands brushes with Helen’s, between their chairs – her fingers tracing patterns over Helen’s palm, like a map of what she _could_ be doing, to her. “Or it’ll start shrieking, any minute now, because it’s definitely a good idea to be poking at some unknown alien artifact in the middle of a crowded pub.”

“Yes, but the TARDIS doesn’t like it being anywhere near her,” the Doctor replies, glancing up from his fiddling. “And that’s not usually a good sign.”

“I know. I just think that bringing it into a place full of people, where the _best_ outcome is that it starts drawing a lot of attention to itself...” Liv starts, but gets sidelined by another thought, as she looks at the Doctor. “Speaking of that – how come _we_ made an effort to fit in, here, but you get to just turn up in 1650 in a leather coat and jeans? You have fancy, old-fashioned clothes. I’ve seen them.”

“You could turn up in 1650 in a leather coat and jeans, if you liked,” he tells her, as if it’s really just that easy.

“The last time I did that, they thought I was a witch. Not exactly an experience I want to repeat,” Liv reminds him, in one of those vague references to an event Helen would like to know more about, sometime. Though, at that moment, Liv’s hand leave’s Helen’s to settle high on Helen’s lap, fingers playing across the fabric, and her thigh, in a very deliberate way that makes Helen glad she doesn’t actually have to concentrate on anything, right now.

The Doctor’s back at being engrossed in puzzling out the cube. They watch him, for a bit longer, before Liv stands, pulling Helen along with her.

“Right. You keep doing... that... we’re going to... check out the view. From upstairs,” Liv tells him. It’s not as if the Doctor doesn’t _know_ what they get up to, sometimes. Unless the TARDIS walls really are that thick (they could be) or else they really are that subtle (they’re not) – but Helen appreciates the _attempt_ at discretion. 

She follows Liv through the raucous crowd of people, and up a spiraling wooden staircase, until they come to a curving hall of rooms, above the pub.

“We don’t actually have a room here,” Helen brings up, as it occurs to her. “Unless you’ve –”

“Gotten good at getting through locked doors?” Liv supplies. It’s not where Helen was going with that, but it works. Though it does make her marvel, not for the first time, at how Liv’s plans can be about as reckless as the Doctor’s – despite what Liv might otherwise claim. But Helen’s into it, especially right now. Even if she does have a few uncertainties.

“You know which ones are free? Are _any_ of them free? It does look busy...”

Liv knocks at the one closes to her. There’s no response. She presses her ear to the wood, to be sure. “This one is.”

Though the door is, indeed, locked.

“You’re not going to _break_ it?” Every time she’s seen Liv get through a door they desperately needed getting through, the thing did end up a bit _not working_, afterwards.

Liv studies the keyhole. “I don’t need to.”

She steps into Helen, plucks a few pins from Helen’s hair, and within moments, they’re in. That feeling she gets whenever Liv does something terribly impressive peaks through her. It’s a frequent feeling.

As soon as the thick wood creaks shut behind them, Helen’s pinning her against the wall beside it, tongue twining with Liv’s; hungry and heated. Liv’s hand twists into Helen’s loosening do, pulling her into her – as if she even has to. As if there’s any place Helen would rather be but right here, with Liv all wound up and wanting, beneath her.

Helen’s thigh pushes into a particular spot that has Liv gasping against her mouth, but she wants to actually _feel_ her. Needs to. Her fingers run down the silky fabric, while her lips find purchase along Liv’s neck – teeth lightly grazing against the lobe of her ear, as she carries downward.

“These things aren’t made for easy access,” Helen mutters, against her skin, but she finds the hem – _all_ the hems – and slips her hand beneath, until her fingers settle on Liv’s thigh, and slide upwards. 

“You’re doing fine,” Liv utters out, breathy, when Helen’s hand slips beneath her underwear, and her tongue sweeps slow a line down the push of cleavage that the dress – these _impossible_ dresses – dips to show.

“So are you – wow,” Helen says, righting up, to whisper in Liv’s ear – because Liv is quite wet for her. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“You _know_.”

“I know. Tell me.” Helen’s fingers rest over the right spot, circling, then stilling. Not moving, until she gets an answer.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Liv remarks. Well, of course she is. It’s too easy. Her fingers writhe against Liv, just slightly. Putting pressure on her clit and moving, slowly, closer to where Liv wants them. Closer, but not quite there. “Stop playing games, and just fuck me.”

It’s sort of a half-order, half-_beg_, at this point.

“Good,” Helen replies, and she continues to do just that. Finally, sliding into her, feeling Liv all slick and ready for her, as she moves her hand to a pace that Liv rocks into. 

Liv’s lips brush against the crux of Helen’s neck, muffling _some_ of the sounds she’s making, but the rest coming out very close below Helen’s ear, as Helen continues to work Liv up. And up, until pushing her right over – Helen still so in awe she’s doing this, that _they’re_ doing this – as Liv comes hard, against her hand, pulsing against Helen’s fingers, her body shuddering against her. She’s _so_ amazing, and she’s Helen’s, and that’s... incredible, really. So Helen thinks, and will keep showing her.

She’s just driving her towards a second orgasm, whilst kissing Liv intensely, when an eerie wail echoes from downstairs. Loudly. Unstopping.

“I told him,” Liv complains. She’s so close. _So_ close. So totally, nearly, undone – _again_.

They should go back down there. And they will. Just... in a minute. Let them finish _something_ they’ve started, today.


	2. Hey you, with the red dress on... - M

* * *

“Oh, come on,” the Doctor starts to say, far too hopefully. “It could be a perfectly harmless –” 

“Mysterious invitation?” Liv supplies. This was either a trap, or... no, probably a trap. She leans back against the side of the TARDIS console, casting a look up at the array of stars and planets and swirls of distant galaxies moving across the ceiling . There’s a yellow-green planet, blown larger than the others, and the literal _palace_ of a space station that orbits it. They’ve landed on the station, at the beck and call of some seriously vague invites. “Have any of these ever _not_ ended in us fighting for our lives?” 

“You could say the same for anywhere we go,” he replies.

“I do.” And for that exact reason, she’s dressed as practically as she can get away with, while still looking like she made an effort. _Ish_. The pants are tight, dark – with a few layers of nice tops beneath a fitted leather jacket. And a long necklace with these chains that... went with the rest of the look, somehow. As did the way she’d pulled her hair back. “Do you have any idea who could have sent them? And why only two?”

Liv turns the square of holographic paper in her hands, staring at the swirls of golden patterns and lettering that move across it. There’s one for her, and one for the Doctor. They’d just been handed to them by some sort of time-hopping mail courier, on the last world they stopped at.

“Someone who only knew us? An old friend?”

“So, most likely, someone we’ve stopped from destroying some planet, who’s now...” Liv begins to say, heading towards a very important point, she swears – but finds herself trailing off, as she catches sight of Helen, who’s just joined them.

She knows she’s attracted to Helen Sinclair on any average day – it’s pointless to deny it – but seeing her _in that_...

Helen’s dress is strapless, red, and falling only barely down her thighs. Clinging to every curve it covers, and showing off so much else it that it doesn’t. Helen’s curled her hair, too, into a loose cascade that’s spilling down over one shoulder, leaving the other side bare.

It’s hard to know where to look, first – which parts of Helen to try and desperately _not_ imagine herself wanting to touch, and kiss. There’s one particular fantasy, standing out – of her mouth roaming down the side of Helen’s neck , continuing across her collarbone, and trailing down her chest that the dress seems specifically designed to highlight. That’d be a good place to start.

She feels herself flush, as Helen’s eyes meet her’s, and she wonders how long she’s just been standing there, staring hungrily at her friend. Looking just _obvious_ about it, in the middle of the TARDIS console room.

“You like it? It wasn’t sure if it’d be a bit much,” Helen wonders, “I just saw it and thought ‘why not?’”

“No, it’s – you, uh... you look nice,” she finally gets out. Just _nice_, she’s going to go with? _Nice_, out of all of the possible words to describe how Helen looks, and what it’s doing to her? Although, she could have said something even more awkward, considering.

Helen smiles, and steps in close to her. Her finger’s touch against the leather of Liv’s jacket, like she’s taking her whole look in, as well, and likes what she sees. And feels. “So do you.”

It sets Liv’s heart racing even more, and there’s a strong part of her that wants to _not_ investigate a dodgy party full of strangers and probably an old enemy or two, when she could just keep having Helen’s hand there... or elsewhere. 

Still, they depart the TARDIS and step into a large supply closet, which is at the end of a long, twisting hallway that opens into a rounded lobby area with pale gold walls, shinier gold trim, and a small queue of wealthy-looking guests of a myriad of races presenting their invitations to a woman at the base of a wide marble staircase that spirals upwards. 

It doesn’t take long until it’s their turn up. The bouncer takes her and the Doctor’s invitations, easily enough. “The Doctor and Liv Chenka. A pleasure, I hope. And your gorgeous friend?”

“She’s mine. _With_ me. As my plus one,” Liv corrects, hastily, willing herself to pull it together. _It’s Helen, you see her all the time_. _Just not quite that much of her_... her brain also adds, annoyingly.

And of course, they’re only halfway up the staircase, when Helen leans in, quietly, her voice teasing, “I’m _your’s_?”

_Yes. If you want to be_, Liv thinks, but doesn’t say. Nor does she say ‘or, I could be _yours_’ – despite the idea of _that_, of Helen just _having_ her, and doing anything she likes... well, it isn’t something she wants to think about, somewhere this public.

The stairs lead them to one enormous ballroom, with a golden cathedral ceiling, and crowded floor with uniformed serves weaving between everyone, trays full of quickly-disappearing appetisers and flutes of some sparkling, pale purple drinks. It’s not long before the Doctor vanishes, through the crowd, gone to check out who knows what.

After a while, she and Helen end up on a plush leather seat, near the far wall, overlooking a large window of curved glass, through which the planet below, its three glowing moons, and an endless array of distant stars can be seen.

What can also be seen, and Liv also tries _so_ hard not to look like she’s looking, is the way the red fabric rises even further up Helen’s crossed thighs, when she sits.

“This place is incredible,” Helen remarks, gazing out at the view. “Whoever sent those invitations, I’m glad they did.” 

“You might _not_ be saying that, once they show themselves...” 

“Maybe. Probably. But, right now, we’re on a _space palace_, at an extremely glamorous party. We should enjoy it,” Helen says, and her friend’s delight at experiencing things that someone from her era would never get to see will always hit a certain spot of fondness, in Liv. A fondness that, currently, might be coupled with a few stray thoughts about where Liv’s fingers could be... and a yearning desire between her own legs, that makes Liv shift in her seat, as if finding another position will make it stop.

“I _am_ enjoying it,” Liv protests – and really, if Helen only knew how much she was trying not to seem like she was enjoying the sight in front of her a bit too much.

“You keep looking like you want to be somewhere else.” She fingers the charm at the end of Liv’s necklace, in an absent sort of way that pulls Liv a touch closer to her. She _does_ want to be somewhere else. Somewhere with Helen, in that outfit, but private.

Though, this isn’t bad, either. She can feel Helen’s leg brushing against hers, with barely any space between them. And then there’s that look, in Helen’s eyes, as she twists the charm between her fingers, causing the chain to dig just slightly into the back of Liv’s neck. And the way Helen’s other hand slides up the front Liv’s jacket, slowly.

Liv moves to close the very small distance between their mouths, about to seize whatever moment this is turning out to be... when the floor beneath them gives a sudden tremor, like a small earthquake. Glasses shatter off trays and tables, in various directions.

“So much for ‘enjoying ourselves’,” Helen resigns, with a reluctant sigh, as they pull themselves back to the sights and sounds of a ballroom full of people who were definitely not expecting that. Another, even stronger shudder rocks the ballroom.

Really? Whatever was doing that couldn’t have waited _one_ more second, before starting up? They rise and, steadying themselves through several more of the same, attempt to find out what’s happening, and find the Doctor.

He finds them, first – arriving back in the ballroom, from another spiraling staircase that leads to the level above. He looks like someone who’d just been running, and has a sense of urgency in his eyes.

“Good news – I found out who invited us. And, no, it’s not someone who wants to trap us on a crashing space station. Well, they did want that. But they don’t wish us any harm,” he tells them. “It seems we have a reputation for being clever in a pinch.”

“They want us to fix this?” Liv guesses, right as the room shudders again, and this time tilts, like a boat knocked off balance. She grips Helen out of reflex, sliding into her, as Helen’s arms end up around her waist, in turn. The room sways back to normal, just as fast, and they detangle – though Liv instantly misses the contact. “Also, _who_ wants us to fix it?”

“The people who own the palace. Very secretive about their names, but we met their cousin, on that cruise liner with the squid problem. And I already have solved it,” he says.

“So, why is it getting worse?” Helen wonders. The whole station sags, again, in the other direction. This time, it’s Helen pressing up against her. And, this time, when the floor rights up, Helen’s hand lingers on her hip.

“Because it’s not quite sorted, yet – the explosion has to be vented somewhere, into a room that isn’t currently full of people, or that important to the station...” he begins, and Liv can see exactly where this is going. “But don’t worry, we have plenty of time to get back to the TARDIS, before the room... isn’t a room.”

“How long is ‘plenty of time’?” Helen asks, sensibly wary. A normal person’s definition of that tended to differ from his.

“Three minutes, fifteen seconds?”

Oh, ages.

“Next time, just lead with ‘we need to get to the TARDIS, before the room it’s in explodes’,” Liv tells him, as they make a sprint for it. 

They reach the TARDIS and the doomed supply closet, just in time. The TARDIS doors close behind them, and the Doctor rockets to the controls, steering the ship away from a room that’s about to vanish around it. And then he lands it, just as fast, on another part of the palace, and darts back out the door, saying something about wanting to see if it’d worked.

Liv’s about to follow after, keen to find whoever couldn’t be bothered to actually write _come fix our ship _on the invites, when Helen’s hand slides a slow run down her arm, then continues to ghost down Liv’s palm, and fingers. And suddenly, she can’t do anything but stare back at her. Seeing Helen look all a bit dishevelled and alight with adrenaline, in the electric blue and faint, fiery candle-lit glow of the dim room – and Liv finds her other hand coming up to Helen’s warm cheek before threading into her volume of loose, _soft_ curls as she kisses her, properly, this time. Pushing her back a touch, against one edge of the console, as Helen gladly aims to claim as much of Liv’s mouth in return, as she can.

She feels Helen’s fingers slide beneath her jacket, and her tops. Seeking skin, and letting an appreciative noise escape her, as she takes her time to explore – emboldening Liv to draw her own hand down from the curve of Helen’s waist, over her hip and thigh, then slipping just beneath the hem of Helen’s dress. Wanting to continue further up – _needing_ to make Helen come undone, right here, right now.

There’s a hum, against her mouth, then a trickle of a laugh. “We’re doing this in here?”

“If you don’t – if you wanted to go somewhere more –” Liv starts, wondering if this really is the best place, where they could be so easily walked in on... but she’s silenced by Helen’s hand closing over the top of hers, drawing Liv’s fingers further up the inside of her thigh, until Liv can feel the silky fabric of some quite thin underwear, dampened with arousal. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about wanting you _in_ me, in here?” Helen assures, and that’s all Liv needs to push the fabric aside, certain she’s just as wet, herself, feeling her out and moving her hand against Helen’s clit in a way that makes the other woman arc into her and gasp. 

She kisses beneath Helen’s jaw, then downward, over every part of skin she can manage, as she slips a pair of fingers inside Helen’s slick core – Helen bucking her hips in a slow rhythm to take them in. She makes a small noise of protest when Liv withdraws, after a short bit, but seems to know where Liv’s headed when Liv runs a finger up and down her folds, then returns to push three of them into Helen, who’s so ready. Pulsing against her. Thrumming with pleasure. Coming ever so close to becoming completely consumed by it, the more Liv works to get her there, looking so beautiful and perfect and right on the edge. 

Liv _could_ draw this out for while, if she wanted. But she won’t – hitting just the right spot, in the right way, to send her there. To the peak of an orgasm that has Helen shuddering and uttering Liv’s name, as Liv keeps her feeling that bliss for as long as possible. Finally, Helen sinks into her, half-perched on the lip on the console, and Liv slowly removes her fingers.

“That was... you’re really good at that,” Helen tells her, breathless. Liv feels something wonderful coursing through her, just then, when Helen’s mouth finds a particular spot on her neck, beneath her ear. She smiles against Liv’s skin. “I have so many things I want to do to you.”

“Do them,” Liv practically begs.

Helen’s hand begins to dip beneath the top of Liv’s pants in response, fingers splaying across her skin – so close to being where she needs them, thumb toying at undoing the button and zip for better access... but then, Helen gets another idea.

Helen slides away from the console, pulling Liv with her, until arriving at the nearest spare bedroom. It isn’t much, but it has a bed, in the centre of it, and a door. Helen’s just barely closed it, when she’s hooking her fingers into one of the front belt loops – her lips finding Liv’s, again, tongue sliding against hers, and steering them towards the mattress. And then Liv’s down, on the bed, with Helen working to undress her. Her pants, shoes, and own underwear end up somewhere on the floor, giving Helen all the room she needs to part Liv’s legs just a bit further, pressing her mouth to the inside of her thigh. Kissing and even letting her tongue dart out to lick, very _slowly_, along Liv’s skin.

Liv can’t help but rock into her – needing Helen to just... keep going. She feels the pinch of teeth nipping at the apex of her thigh. Gently, but enough to send a certain thrill down her spine, and another jolt of need surging inside her. Helen’s tongue roams over the mark and then, finally, she’s exactly where Liv wants her most. 

She explores her, a bit – seeing what makes Liv hum and writhe the most. When Liv feels Helen’s tongue dip _inside_ of her, she emits a sort of whimper, that only means: _that. I really like that, Keep doing it._

But then Helen’s lips come to her clit, her tongue moving in just _all _the right ways, and Liv’s lost to the feeling. She comes quickly, the intense pleasure of what Helen’s doing filling every part of her, making her neck arc off the pillow and blurring out anything else.

Helen replaces her mouth with her hand, and is above Liv, straddling atop her, by the time Liv’s ridden out the wave enough to notice. Liv can taste herself on Helen as she kisses her, right as Helen sends her through a really nice aftershock.

“Do you think we have a while?” Helen wonders. 

“Eh... probably?” Liv casts, whatever the Doctor might or might not be doing with the palace, now, honestly the last thing in her mind.

“Good. Because we’re still wearing far too much clothing.”


	3. You and me here, underneath the mistletoe... - T

* * *

“So, how long are we supposed to wear the ridiculous hats for?” Liv asks Helen, later that day, after most of the feast has been eaten, more Glühwein drank, and the rest of the crackers pulled.

She pushes the flimsy piece of paper up from where it’s threatening to fall in her face, and can’t help but think, as she stares at Helen for a bit too long – _again_ – that Helen looks weirdly attractive in her own crown. Like some kind of beautiful queen. But then, Helen manages to look attractive in just about anything. Even things that aren’t technically _supposed_ to be that attractive.

Liv still can’t believe she has Helen back, at all – that things aligned to let that happen. Barely a few hours ago, she’d been terrified, desperate, pleading and then, well... magic. Or whatever it was, that had her embracing her slightly-bewildered friend, and stroking her face, like someone who was barely refraining from straight-up kissing her, out of relief.

Helen’s about to respond, to Liv’s query about the hats – when her eyes drift upwards, to something above Liv’s head, then widen, a soft ‘_oh_!’ escaping her lips.

“What?” Liv prompts, following her gaze, but seeing nothing more than a bunch of bright green leaves with tiny white berries, which had been tied together with a bit of red ribbon, then dangled from the wide frame between the two rooms.

“It’s just, what you’re standing under – what _we’re_ standing under...” Helen begins to explain, a flush creeping into her cheeks.

“... Is somehow different from all the other decorative bits of plants, hanging off stuff?” Liv wonders. There’s not exactly a shortage of indoor greenery, in here – between the ornament-filled tree in the living room, and the lengths of evergreen branches draping here and there.

“It’s mistletoe. If two people are caught standing under it, they’re supposed to kiss. Traditionally.”

“Right – you’re just making things up, now,” Liv replies, though, really, who could even tell, anymore, with this holiday?

“It’s _true_. Completely weird, but – ” Helen begins to insist, but Liv cuts her off, angling up to press her lips to Helen’s, like she’d been wanting to since... honestly, a really long time. Whether it’s the mulled wine or the sheer need to kiss Helen, while she still can, especially if given a good excuse, she doesn’t know. Helen’s mouth parts beneath her’s, and then there’s a hand sliding up the back of Liv’s neck, and another at her waist. Her tongue pushes into Liv’s mouth, seeking out Liv’s with the rough intensity of someone who’s been waiting _an actual lifetime_ to do this. Not just a year and a bit, like Liv – but several long decades, poured into one solid kiss.

Liv can’t do anything but gladly let Helen back her up against the frame that’s just behind her, feeling her back hit the wood as Helen continues to claim as much of her as she dares, knowing everyone else is just in the next room over, only slightly out of sight. Helen’s fingers slide down to a spot high on Liv’s thigh, drifting inwards over the denim – like a promise of something to come later.

They rejoin the rest of the party, after a bit longer beneath this plant... though, ‘later’ can’t come soon enough. If Liv thought she’d been looking at Helen for ‘a bit too long’ _before_, well... this is going to be one distracting rest of an evening.


	4. Now that I've finally found you (I'll never let you go) - M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh... no moodboard for this one. How would I? It mostly takes place in some featureless corridor. And I am also lazy. Will say I'd have loved to include a specific part of the lyrics to Kylie Minogue's 'Stop Me From Falling' in a moodboard for this, though - despite the fic actually being titled after Serena Ryder's 'Ice Age'. Both great songs, that spark Liv/Helen feels, when I hear them.
> 
> Anyway, here you have some hurt/comfort of a thing, plus shagging.

Liv stirs, feeling something warm – a hand – touching her face, and a pulse of pure pain, beneath her skull. There’s a voice, too. Helen’s. Of course it is. It sounds faint, at first, but grows a bit louder, the more consciousness Liv regains. 

“Liv, please... come on...”

Her cheek nudges into Helen’s palm, and she opens her eyes in time to see the relieved beam that’s suddenly come across Helen’s face.

“Finally,” Helen breathes, as Liv groans against the invasion of bright, corridor fluorescents, and the way it feels like her entire body has been doused in... ice? It’s a weird sensation. Like an endless, burning cold, seeping deep through every bone and muscle. And then there’s Helen, staring down at her, in that affectionate way she does that could thaw through anything. “You could throw yourself at _less_ things that are trying to kill us, sometimes.”

“I could... but, where’s the splitting headache, in that?” Liv quips, pushing herself up, only to slump into where Helen’s knelt, as her surroundings now want to _spin_, the moment she’s slightly upright. Or at least, to feel like they are. A darkness edges into her vision, threatening to take over.

“Liv!” Helen catches her, holding her close, as the sight before Liv’s eyes slowly returns to normal. Annoyed as she is that she just about blacked out, again, it’s not entirely a bad position to find herself in – pillowing her head between Helen’s shoulder and neck. Helen’s comfortable and, well, _warm_. She can’t seem to stop shivering, though the heat of Helen’s embrace is helping.

“I’m alright,” Liv tells her, having heard the tones of concern in Helen’s voice. “I just... need a minute, before standing seems like a good idea.”

“_Now_ you care about ‘what’s a good idea’,” Helen remarks, quietly. Her fingers drift into Liv’s hair, toying with the ends of it, in an absent sort of way that Liv’s a bit surprised by, but also finding she enjoys.

“It was the _only_ idea –” Liv says. Even she hadn’t thought it was a _good_ one.

“I could have handled it. Or helped, if I knew you were going to try and fight it.”

To be fair, trying to fight an electric frost beast that _shouldn’t be touched, _especially while wearing a top with short sleeves_, _had been less of an actual _plan_ of Liv’s, and more of a snap decision, when it looked like it was making a move towards Helen. 

She had landed a solid hit – right before the creature sent a jolt of something _extra _surging through Liv, in turn. And then Liv hadn’t known what happened, next. Only that the large, shaggy creature was gone, now.

“Trust me, you don’t want to be feeling this,” she tells Helen. Still, every part of this misery was worth it, if it meant _Helen_ was fine. It always would be.

“No, instead I got to watch you collapse, and spend I don’t know _how_ long worrying about you, ” Helen says, a bit sharply.

“I didn’t mean...” she starts to say, realizing. She knows what that’s like, being on the other side of it. That desperate, pleading fear. And Helen just being alone, in this vacant part of the ship, waiting for Liv to wake up. _If _she would. She hadn’t meant to do that to her, at all. Liv lifts her head, steadying herself with a hand on Helen’s shoulder, and another around her waist.

“_I_ _know_,” Helen replies, softening, as she looks at Liv. “And it was a really good punch you got in, in the end. I think you broke its snout. It ran away, whimpering. It’s just... you were out for a long time. And incredibly cold. I could _barely_ feel a pulse...” Helen pauses, her hand sliding to cup Liv’s face, eyes locked into hers. “I can’t lose you.”

The space between their faces is inches, now. And then it’s even less. Because something – some impulse, something about the way Helen’s looking at her – has Liv seeking out Helen’s lips, at about the same moment Helen moves in, to capture hers.

Liv shifts her position, a bit, relishing in that urgent spark of heat between them, as the kiss deepens, tongues sliding and twisting against each other. Like it’s a competition to see who can kiss the other one with the _most _want. The _most_ ‘stop nearly dying on me, already – I need you. I love you.’

Her thighs come to rest on either side of Helen’s, who pulls Liv just a touch more into her. Or, well, _onto_ her. The hand at Liv’s lower back slips beneath her shirt. “You’re still freezing.”

“Hm. Might need you to warm me up, later,” Liv replies – though, who’s heating who, right now, is debatable, with Liv’s mouth dipping to a spot below Helen’s jaw, then moving over a bit, along her neck, until she finds a particular place beneath Helen’s ear that makes the other woman about melt.

**

Liv feels _mostly_ normal, again, by the time they’ve found the Doctor, finished sorting out the frost beast invasion, and are back on the TARDIS. Whether it’s just her body’s own way of recovering quickly from things, or that the creature’s effects were only meant to last an hour or two, Liv hasn’t checked into. She’s okay, now, and that’s the important part.

And, currently, she’s busy being distracted by the way she’s being divested of her clothes by Helen, the moment they’re in Liv’s room. Which, is better than ‘okay.’ Soaringly better. It’s a feeling Liv can barely believe - that she can be so lucky, after years of thinking this sort of joy is mostly reserved for people who aren't her.

Helen kisses her, slowly this time, with Liv’s back pressed against the shut door. Savoring the moment, and taking her time to unpry each button of Liv’s blouse, until finally the blue fabric hangs open, and Helen turns her attention towards seeing just what reaction she can get out of Liv, wherever else on Liv’s skin she can touch. What pleasured sounds she can make Liv utter, against her mouth – especially when Helen roams over her breast.

Liv’s own hands slide beneath Helen’s top, pushing the tight material up as far as it’ll easily go. It’s not quite far up _enough_, though she can unclasp Helen’s bra with one hand, while the other slips beneath. She moves her thumb over Helen’s nipple just _so_, loving the gasp that gets her, and how responsive Helen is, in turn.

One of Helen’s hands drift southward, releasing the button and zip of Liv’s jeans, and sliding her fingers inside, right against her, gliding over slick folds.

“You do feel warmer,” Helen remarks, quickly finding out the right spot that has Liv rocking into her, desperate for more pressure, right there. “So, what does my incredibly _aroused_ Med Tech want me to do to her?”

“Anything...” Comes her extremely _specific_ reply. But it’s true. She just wants Helen in her, against her, exploring her... and definitely continuing to make her feel like _that_. Making that bliss build and spread, until Liv’s sinking fully into it, the way she is now. If there was any frost left in her veins, it’s burnt right out, as she comes against Helen’s hand.

She feels the other slide and twist into her hair, with Helen pulling her in for another deep kiss, as the fingers that are still sending _more_ beautiful waves ringing through Liv’s entire body finally move to fill her. Curling into her, working her back up, and it takes about nothing until she’s shuddering, all over again. Breathing Helen’s name, and thanking the fact that they have all night to do all sorts more.


	5. Almost - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it's going to be stuck in my head all day, it's going in a moodboard ('Stop Me From Falling', I mean...)
> 
> Here we have: a fluffy moment in the TARDIS kitchen, set between Ravenous 1 and 2.

* * *

“I like you hair,” Helen says, suddenly, fishing out a tea bag from one of the many boxes in the cupboard, and placing it in a mug – her eyes on Liv, as she does it.

“I had some time to kill. Got a bit restless,” Liv admits, though doesn’t add, _it took my mind of worrying we’d never find you, for a second. _By the last day of waiting around to recover enough to leave the military base’s sickbay (and, waiting for the Doctor’s device to finish locating Helen) she’d been reaching her end with things to do, besides stressing.

“It looks good on you,” Helen continues. “It looked good longer, too – I mean, you always do look good, any way you look, and... why am I saying any of this?”

A flush rises in Helen’s cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.

“No idea. But you can keep complimenting me, if you want,” Liv teases, and then Helen does something Liv can’t say she’d have expected – reaching up to pass the shorter locks slowly through her fingers. Liv stills, caught between breaths, and wondering what – if anything – Helen might do next. Hoping she _does _maybe, decide to finally... or if Liv herself should take it as some cue to close that space between them, lean up, and just kiss her, already. Like she’s been wanting to, since the moment they found Helen, again. Since long before that, too.

The kettle emits a high whistle, catching Helen’s attention, and she turns away to take it off the burner, letting the chin-length strands fall back against the side of Liv’s face.

_Good job on seizing that moment_, she kicks herself for. Next time – Liv vows. Next time there’s an opportunity, she will. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing something different with mine, too. Blonde, maybe?” Helen muses, pouring boiling water into the mug, and adding the smallest splash of milk. You don't actually _need_ to do it manually - there is a machine, for instant, lazy tea. Or whatever other drinks. But Helen's always done it the old fashioned way. Out of habit, at first. Then personal preference, swearing it just tastes better. “Do you think that would work?”

“I do,” she tells her, having a feeling Helen would be distractingly beautiful in any shade. Any style. “You also look good, any way you do.”

Helen laughs, taking the tea in hand, and leaning against the counter, beside Liv. There’s something unsaid in the way she’s looking at her, an air of _I’ve really missed you_ in her eyes, and Liv’s sure she must be giving off something of the same – even though it’s not even been a week, on her end. Nothing, compared to Helen's six or seven full months.

Liv wishes they'd got there a lot sooner - knowing full well what it's like to be stranded on some terrible planet, fighting for survival every day. But, Helen seems keen to talk about anything else but that, and Liv's in no hurry to swap miserable past ordeals either. (Though she would, if Helen ever really wanted to, someday.)

“Should we see if he’s picked a place to go, yet?” Helen wonders, a couple minutes later, after a few sips of the strong English breakfast blend. She moves to depart, her free hand brushing across Liv’s own, as she does. 

She’ll do something about her feelings for Helen, one of these days... if Helen doesn’t do something about it first, Liv’s starting to think might just happen.


	6. Find me in the dark - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will there be a moodboard for a fic that takes place entirely in pitch darkness? Uh... no. I don't think so, though I have considered rising to the challenge. 
> 
> Anyhow - here, we have Helen finding herself in predicament that could use a woman with potential lock-picking skills.

Helen would guess she woke up here no more than five minutes ago.... but how long she’s actually been here, or where ‘here’ is, is a mystery.

It has a distinct, almost musty air of 'storage cellar' or 'long forgotten basement', and it’s dark. Not just dark, but _lightless_. Not a sliver or speck shining in from anywhere. The floor she’s on feels cold, like smooth cement, and her hands have been cuffed behind her back to something that appears to be a pipe. Clangs like an annoyingly sturdy pipe, too, as she attempts to move the thick cuffs along it (no use - they barely shift) or else see if the pipe or the handcuffs might break with some force (also no use – so far.)

If Liv or the Doctor could hurry up and come bearing a key or the sonic screwdriver, that would be wonderful. Presuming they’re not currently in the same situation (or worse) somewhere else in the building. Which is entirely likely. They’d been separated just shortly before Helen was caught out – and it could possibly be up to _her _to rescue_ them, _for all she knows.

She tries to angle her head back, towards the wall, but the pipe’s just far enough away that she can’t quite brush against it in a way that would dislodge the pins holding her updo in place. Not that Helen knows any more about picking locks than the basic _theory _of it, things she'd seen in films or read in books, but it's worth a go. She gives it another shot, stretching, hoping. Wondering if the people who captured her plan on leaving her to slowly die alone, or if they intend to come back, and dispose of her in a more elaborate and ceremonial manner. 

It's not something she's that eager to want to find out.

There’s some movement, suddenly, in the distance, and Helen stills, to try and gage who or what it is.

She hears the clatter of heavy crates or boxes hitting the ground – their contents spilling out in a series of smaller crashes. At the same time, there’s a very _familiar _noise of pained annoyance, followed by a mutter of, “is too much to ask for an impossibly dark basement that _doesn’t _have piles of old junk lying around, waiting to be walked into?”

“Liv!” Helen calls out, loudly, a relieved spark lighting through her. Her voice echoes, as does the clang of metal behind her, as she pulls against the pipe.

“Helen!" She hears her own back, also in relief. "I’ve been trying to find you – this place is like a maze, built by compulsive hoarders. And of course the lights don’t work. Where are you?”

“Over here, and a bit tied up... near the wall,” she tells her, and hears the sound of quickened footsteps and things-being-blindly-knocked-over growing nearer. Helen can already tell that Liv doesn’t have the sonic with her, or else she’d be using it to see where she’s going. “Are you any good at picking locks?”

“I’ve done it, before..." Liv answers, though, it sounds to Helen like she hasn't done it for quite a while. And may or may not be 'good' at it, despite how skilled Helen knows her girlfriend to be at getting through stubborn doors via a deft kick in the right spot.

Something touches at her shoulder – a hand, Liv’s hand, feeling out where she is. The other settles on the side of Helen’s face. Well, slightly _in _her face, before fixing that. Her thumb strokes across Helen’s cheek in a way that makes Helen wonder just how _long _Liv had been looking for her, for. 

She doesn’t ask, though – just gets to the escaping. “There’s a pin in my hair. A few of them, if you need more than one?” 

“One should do,” Liv says, more confidently.

A set of fingers slide in through her hair, swiftly finding the piece of metal, before both of Liv’s hands run down the length of Helen’s arms, over her shirt. Then there's a weight pressing at Helen’s thighs, and the heat of Liv’s own straddling across, as her fingers arrive at Helen’s bound wrists. While Liv works at the first lock, Helen feels her forehead touch against hers, her nose nudging against Helen’s, and the ghost of every exhale playing across her skin. There’s hardly a part of Liv that _isn’t _extremely close to her, the way she’s positioned. It’s difficult to stand not doing something about. 

Impossible, in fact.

Knowing Liv’s lips must be _just right there_, Helen touches at them with her own. A soft small kiss. Then again, and Liv’s mouth moves instinctively against hers. Lips parting, and tongue seeking, wanting... her hands unconsciously stilling in their lock-picking efforts. Too wrapped up in returning what Helen’s started, before she realizes and pulls back. 

“Right. Distract me. That’ll make this go faster...” Liv says, with a glimmer of laughter at their predicament.

“Sorry. You’re a difficult person to resist. And if you’re going to be _on top _of me...”

“You like it when I’m ‘on top’?” Liv teases, right before there’s a metallic _click _and the cuff holding her right wrist pops open.

She flexes the slight numbness out of her fingers, and her hands go straight for Liv’s waist, in their freedom. Like she doesn’t _quite _ want to let her up, just yet. “Sometimes.”

Helen traces up along the shape of her, _loving _the shape of her, until it’s Helen now, with her hand cupping Liv’s face. Guiding Liv back in, for just one more brief kiss, before they stand, and then it’s back to fumbling through the dark in the less-arousing kind of way. Though... any time she’s within a few feet of Liv, Helen knows full-well it’s going to be at least a _bit _arousing.


	7. Stairwell Rendezvous - M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it... is it clothing kink, and semi-public sex? That apparently happens against a wall? Written by me? When will the surprises ever end... 
> 
> Originally described as "An ode to lustful thoughts about Liv, basically? Or, ‘Liv/Helen fic #5003, in which The Outfits Are Important’" and I'm quite fond of that apt description.

They meet in an alcove just shy of the research facility’s security cameras – not that either of them have found anything new to share about the suspicious things that are going on, here. For all the hours Liv’s been undercover and Helen’s been poking about elsewhere, they’ve both discovered frustratingly little.

Well, Helen’s discovered one thing, just now. That there’s something about the sight of Liv in scrubs and a lab coat that she is _into. _(Really, in the time Helen’s known her, the amount of things Liv’s either done or worn that Helen’s found herself being highly aroused by would make up an incredibly long list – a full book, possibly – but this is a new one.)

“What is it?” Liv wonders, after an audible amount of staring has passed. And Helen’s sure she’s probably looking at her as if she can’t quite decide whether she’d rather press Liv up against the nearest surface and let her hands roam beneath the fabric... or have Liv’s fingers do to her what they’re currently doing against the pen she’s been absently fiddling with, as they talked. (And she _knows_ how good Liv is, with her hands...)

“Nothing. I just... don’t think I’ve ever seen you ‘in uniform’ before,” she admits. They don’t have time to do anything Helen’s thinking about, right now. They really don't. Not that it stops her from taking a step in closer, and letting her hand ride up Liv’s hip, slipping under the top, until she feels skin. And she’s so close to kissing her. Could, if she moved her head just a few inches down and in...

“The things I used to wear on the job were a bit different than this,” Liv tells her, pocketing the pen, and Helen finds herself suddenly wondering what Liv actually _did _used to wear. Having seen a sample of the Kaldor dress sense for herself, she can only begin to imagine... though, she has no doubt Liv probably managed to look good in it, anyway. Whatever ‘it’ was. Helen’s fingers fan across the soft flesh, the tips of a couple dipping beneath the waist band. Prompting Liv, clearly amused by all of this, to add, “Should I keep it, for later?”

“If you want to...”

Whatever slight reserve she’s trying to hold onto breaks, and her lips press against Liv’s. Whose hand rises to twist into Helen’s hair, and she feels a slight, _good_ pull, at the same time Liv’s tongue eagerly meets and moves against hers. Drawing her all in, in this stolen moment in at the base of a stairwell. And then there’s her other hand, rising up Helen’s back, under the t-shirt. And Helen’s moves a little further beneath the waistband. Beneath the cotton she finds under that, too.

“Shouldn’t I be the one ‘examining’ you, though?” Liv says, practically against her mouth. “If we’re doing this right...”

And the things the thought of that does, to her. She needs Liv to go lower, with her hands – to feel how ready she is, for her. How many of her fingers she could take, sliding into her wet, pulsing core. Thrusting deeply, curling, exploring... finding out all the ways she can make Helen react.

“Should we be doing this, right now?” Helen tries to catch herself. Despite how much she desperately wants to indulge this flurry of thoughts, running through her mind. “How long are you even supposed to be ‘on break’ for?”

“Not long enough,” Liv admits. Still, there’s a look in her eyes. Those stunning blue eyes, full of want. And, in one smooth motion, her hand traces around Helen’s body and down, until she feels those fingers against her clit, circling. Becoming coated in Helen’s arousal, as she moves them, creating sensations that build and spread quickly, and she’s thinking it wouldn’t _take _very long for Liv to have her coming apart at least once, either. “You’re really into this.”

Helen answers with a slight hum, then words. Her back comes against the wall just behind her, grateful for the support of it, as Liv continues making her just want to sink into everything she’s doing. “I’m always into you.”

“I feel like I should be doing something more – ” she pauses, to kiss below Helen’s ear, then slowly down her neck, “role play-ey?”

“Go on...” Helen’s curious to hear, if Liv wants to go there. Not that they aren’t already sort of role playing – that of a suspicious facility’s medical research tech having a secret rendezvous with her civilian girlfriend. In a stairwell. Where they could be caught at any moment, by anyone, and Helen has to admit, there’s just a little thrill about that, that adds to this whole thing.

... and something incredibly annoying about it, when, just as Liv’s fingers slip inside her and tease her open a little more, and Helen feels _so close_, her head tilting back against the wall, there’s a click of a door latch, a few floors up. They still, silent. Trying to judge if whoever’s entering the stairwell is going up, or down.

Down. Of course it has to be.

Liv withdraws, and pulls her into a shadowed spot further beneath the stairs, while the whole of Helen’s body yearns for just a few more seconds to themselves. The way Liv’s pressed tight against her as they crouch out of sight isn’t helping quell the desire. Nor is the way her fingers run down Helen’s thigh – and the way, when Helen clasps them in hers, she can feel some remaining slick of where they’ve just been.

They’re in a hurry, whoever it is. Hurried, and discussing something that sounds urgent. Something about an ‘it’ in a basement level not on any official floor plans, that got loose and nearly bit an intern, before being wrangled back in its holdings. Because all completely normal research hospitals have uncontrollable creatures penned up, several floors below the ground.

The pair of doctors quickly sweep out through the door on this level, their lab coats swishing behind them, and then Liv and Helen are alone again. Alone and, this time, with a lead.

“I guess I know where I’m going, next,” Liv says, rising to follow after, towards this ‘Basement 3’.

“Just you?” Helen questions. She hasn’t got anywhere pressing to investigate, herself – they can both go.

“If it’s just me they spot down there, it’ll be easier to explain.”

“Why the woman who was only hired _yesterday _has decided to poke around a top secret basement, containing a top secret monster?”

“I know,” Liv agrees, but seems committed to the plan. “I’ll just have to come up with a really good excuse. And try and stay out of sight, mostly. Look, if I’m not back in a reasonable amount of time, find the Doctor and meet me down there. ”

‘Meet’ – more like ‘rescue in the nick of time’, probably.

“Alright,” Helen resigns. Because, yes, one person who does technically work here stands a better shot of talking herself out of trouble than someone who shouldn’t even be in _this_ part of the building, never mind the hushed-up parts. “Go. Just _try_ not to die, down there? You have something to finish, later...”

Helen’s about to turn in search of the floor she last thought the Doctor was on, when she feels a twist in the front of her shirt, pulling her back in, right before she’s being thoroughly kissed. Stilling time for just a moment, before Liv drops her hold and breaks away, her hand lingering on Helen’s arm. Slowly trailing down it, as she moves towards the door. “See you soon. And don’t _you_ die, up here. I have way too many plans for tonight, already.”


	8. Heat - M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after, in a Canadian... well, more of a cabin than a shack. Don't remember loving the fic's original title, so I changed it to something else I'm equally ambivalent on.

It’s the wind banging against the cabin and whistling in freezing air that wakes Liv up. Like something of her past, intent on haunting her, in that hazy space between dreaming and being awake – until the feeling of an arm draped around her waist and the warm naked body pressed against her draws her mind back to the present. This isn’t Nixyce VII, it’s somewhere in the Canadian wilderness, on 21st century earth, and she isn’t alone. Hasn't been, for some time.

No matter how often Liv’s woken up in the same bed as Helen, there’s still something surreal about it. Like it can’t possibly be real – but it is. Helen doesn’t seem to be awake yet, though, so Liv watches the scene outside for a moment longer.

Another strong gust hits, making the whole building shudder where it stands, and sending more snow spraying against the glass of the bedroom window, partially blocking out the view of... a lot more snow. Snow and trees - their branches bouncing every which way, shaking off most of the blizzard’s attempt to weigh them down. 

So, it’s still going, out there - same as it was, last night, when the three of them were lucky enough to stumble across a spot of shelter. After they were unlucky enough to get lost, of course. Following a scanner that she’d been beginning to doubt was leading them towards _anything_ – except increasing personal annoyance, and a growing lack of feeling in her feet, hands, and face.

She’s warmer now, though, with Helen curled into her like that, and beneath several layers of shabby cabin blankets, in a mismatch of patterns. They’d generated a lot of ... heat... together, last night, on this surprisingly comfortable mattress, and behind the privacy of a shut wood door.

A faint pang of hunger crosses her. It's nothing she isn’t used to – or hasn’t felt far more intensely, for far longer stretches – but it does make Liv wonder how this cabin is for supplies. If it has any food that didn’t expire five years ago, and anything to drink that isn't alcoholic. Although, she’d been grateful for a few shots of the whiskey Helen had unearthed from the back of a mostly-bare cupboard, last night. They hadn't gone through a lot of it - they weren't stupid enough to risk being hungover, given where they were - but still, they'd... enjoyed that, a lot. Kissing Helen on a couch in the firelight, a little tipsy and emboldened, then claiming the cabin's one bedroom for their own uses... 

If she strains, she can hear the Doctor sonicing... something, in the main room, at the moment. The scanner? Probably. He’d better not be set on going back out in this _right now_, or anything, Liv thinks - hoping “treacherous blizzard” doesn’t mean something entirely different to Time Lords than it does to any sensible human. She's about to get up and find out, when Helen shifts and stirs, and Liv finds her attention drawn elsewhere. To the press of lips against the back of her neck. Carrying on down towards Liv’s shoulder. Helen’s hand glides across Liv’s stomach, slowly, travelling southward. Seeking out the same spot the made Liv course with pleasure, some hours ago.

Liv’s quite awake, yet relaxed enough, with the last dregs and sleep and their current position, that it takes only the slightest touch and movement, on Helen’s part, before she can feel that bliss building up between her legs, again.

“Cold, in here,” Helen mutters, against Liv’s skin. The heat of her mouth a nice contrast to the chill of the room. The cabin shudders, again, and her fingers pause, in their efforts. “Is it still storming?”

She lifts her head to peer out of the window, as Liv rolls over, in towards her – giving her hand better access. If she’s going to keep going with what she started, and Liv hopes – _desperately_ hopes – she will.

“Bit romantic, being here with you,” Helen continues, quietly – continuing her exploration of Liv’s clit, before her fingers slide further down, and then they’re _in _her, filling and curling, moving with such a deliberate rhythm, that any reply Liv can think of making is clouded out by the wonderful sensations she’s feeling, and the need for just that bit more. She grinds up, into Helen’s hand – and then she’s there. Head tilting back, as the orgasm washes through her, while Helen takes advantage of the opportunity to lay claim on her neck, and then her lips, as Liv comes down.

“Yeah, it is,” Liv finally says, as she looks back at the insanely beautiful woman who’s now slightly on top of her. Helen's hair's the most adorable mess of sleep and sex, right now. “Romantic, I guess. Somewhere slightly less trapped and freezing would _also_ be romantic...” she can’t help but point out, even though there’s no one Liv would rather have to find ‘some way to pass the time, and stay warm’ in a snowed-in cabin, with.

“We were _trying_ to go somewhere tropical...” Helen muses, withdrawing her fingers, and Liv instantly misses them. But loves the way Helen slowly traces them up her skin, until settling on toying with one of Liv’s nipples. “I know how difficult she is to fly, but how someone so experienced at it can still get ‘Canada, in February’...”

“Have I never told you, how impressive it is that you learned to fly her?” Liv suddenly finds herself saying, passing and weaving her hand in through the disheveled cascade of blonde above her. 

“It took me decades,” Helen downplays. “I bet it would have taken _you_ an hour! You can fly anything.”

“Anything but the TARDIS,” Liv tells her, then gets a slight idea. “You should teach me. In case I ever have to properly do it. And I probably _will_, at some point. I’m surprised I haven’t, yet.”

She might be able to get to a few familiar places, Liv thinks - if she ever really had to, but anything beyond that would be a lot harder. Plus, there's the fact that thought of Helen giving her TARDIS-flying lessons just sounds a bit hot – if she could manage to focus on actually learning anything, and not let her mind stray to how much she’d like to be kissing various parts of her, up against that TARDIS console.

“I don’t really remember it, that well...” Helen counters. “It’s like trying to remember the details of a long dream. I could show you a few things, I suppose... but I don’t think we’d end up anywhere close to where we were trying to go.”

“So, you’re saying it’d be like any normal trip in the TARDIS?” Liv cheeks, then pulls her in towards her, capturing her lips, again – and seeking out her tongue, which gladly slides against hers, as Liv tries to communicate just how deeply brilliant she thinks Helen is.

She gets another idea in mind, and maneuvers until she can feel Helen’s folds brushing against her own, wet sliding against wet, and Helen gasps appreciatively, at the sensation. Moving against her, in return, getting the pressure where she needs it, and by the sounds of all of those little noises Helen tries to keep from growing too loud, she's almost as close to her peak as Liv feels. 

And closer, when Liv's hand brushes over Helen’s breast, and her mouth roams below her jaw.

“Could you just, a bit... _up_... there, that,” Helen urges, then hums, as Liv sorts out exactly what she means, letting Helen’s responses guide her.

And then she can feel it, Helen shuddering against her, and the vibrations are enough to make Liv go again, too – both women lost to the flood of it, never wanting it to stop. If it's possible to be any more in love with someone, Liv has no idea. Just that she wants to keep making Helen soar with pleasure, for the rest of this morning, and also forever. 


	9. For Love - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio face a deathly dilemma, and a mysterious enemy. 
> 
> Originally written before Ravenous 4 was released, but it's since been tweaked a bit to fit better with the canon of when this fic is meant to take place (after Ravenous 4 - possibly sometime during Stranded?) 
> 
> I'm far too fond of just HOW much fic I wrote in my head one day at work, not to repost this.

_Oh, not this again... _Liv thinks, as she comes to, and catches sight of the four solid glass walls she appears to be trapped within. And spies, over in another cell pressing against her own, Helen picking herself up and wincing through what Liv guesses is the same nauseous dull headache of a feeling. Like being moderately hungover, without any recollection of actually drinking anything.

“I wake up in the best places, with you...” Helen remarks, noticing Liv, in return. Her hand massages at her temples, leaning into the glass between them. 

“At least we woke up,” Liv offers, moving closer to her. They’d been investigating a spate of mysterious disappearances in the alien part of Camden Market, when the door behind them had suddenly locked shut. And then some kind of gas came flowing in the vents, too quickly to avoid. There’d been Helen’s face, looking back at her, eyes wide in concern, some sensation of falling _into _or against Helen, then... nothing, until now. “Though, I’m not loving the fact that we seem to be trapped in a pair of cages...”

The cells are quite small, and less furnished than the last time. In fact, there are literally zero things in them, aside from the two of them. Which suggests that whoever put them here isn’t intent on keeping them comfortably hostage, for a long period of time. 

The glass stretches another few feet up to the ceiling, where a large bit of piping pokes out of the greyish tiles. She wonders what method of torturing or killing them is meant to inevitably pour out of it.

Liv doesn’t have to wonder for long, when she hears an unfamiliar voice carrying through a speaker set high into one of the walls beyond the cages. He seems to be speaking to the Doctor, somewhere else unseen.

“I’m not a cruel man, Doctor. You may choose to keep _one_ of your bothersome human pets. As for the other? Well, on the bright side, at least you’ll save money on a cremation,” the voice drawls, as if he’s decided to kill them in a particularly _considerate_ way.

Brilliant. They’re at the hands of a psychopath. The voice isn’t familiar. It doesn’t sound like The Eleven or The Nine and lacks the sudden bouts of arguing with himself. And, if it’s the Master, it’s not a regeneration she’s personally met. Not that that rules out the possibility.

“Not cruel? _Not_ cruel? You’ve just asked me to pick which of my best friends gets to live, and which one gets burnt alive. Even if they were two complete strangers who you’d plucked off the street, that would still be an unbelievably cruel thing to do, to everyone involved,” the Doctor admonishes, voice rife with outrage. “And what if I refuse? What if that isn’t a choice I could possibly make?”

“Then one will live, and one will die, regardless and at random,” the unknown man says, and _oh_, _not that again, either_. “Is that what you’ve decided? Shall I pick? Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a nosy human by the toe...”

“No! Alright, I will choose. I’ll do what you want,” the Doctor cuts him off, and there’s a focused calm now edging into his voice. Like he’s got something else he’s planning. Well, he’d better have. “If you’ll just give me a few minutes to decide. If I have to be responsible for ending one of their lives, I think it’s only fair I have time to make the best possible choice.”

“Yes, fine – you may have ‘a few minutes’ to make up your mind. Two minutes. But don’t think you’re buying yourself time to think up some clever way to save them both,” the man warns. “If you even _look _like you’re about to, I will press my own button. Faster than you could blink.”

“Can you, now? I’ll keep that in mind. Though, I can blink very quickly, when I want to...”

“Two minutes, Doctor. Starting now.”

There’s a pause of silence, and Liv finds herself wishing she’d worn a watch to keep track of how much time they have left to figure this out. She counts out about ten seconds, in her head, while her eyes rake the fused corners of her cell for weak spots in the glass. Somewhere a well-placed kick might jar apart. She’s not seeing any, though it doesn’t stop her from aiming a useless boot at it. Followed up by an equally futile strike with the side of her fist, and she has no idea how many seconds ticked away while she was doing that. 

_‘_But can I just break it?_’ _isn’t a plan that’s going to work.

Her sights leave the stubbornly thick glass, and seek out Helen. Desperately wanting to be able to actually touch her. Liv settles for placing her palm flat against the space where Helen’s is, cursing those several solid inches between them, that are keeping her from curling her fingers around Helen’s hand.

“He’ll find a way. Or, we will,” Helen tells her, sounding like she might be trying to convince herself a bit, too. “We’ve gotten out of much tighter spots, before.”

“We usually do. This is just an average... well, _any_ day of the week, really,” she says, and watches Helen’s lips quirk in amusement. There is no way this could be their final moments together. Not a chance. But still, nagging at Liv, is the thought that maybe it could. It shouldn’t be. It’s so _stupid_ to be. But it could be – the one time they can’t all come out of this, alive. She looks higher up, towards the speaker. “Doctor? Can _you_ hear _us_?”

“Loud and clear,” he replies, with certain gravity.

More possible last seconds pass by, and Liv gets on with what she’d drawn his attention for, “Right... so, if you’re working on some plan to save us both, just – ignore me, and get on with it. _Really_ get on with it. Because I don’t want to die, in a stupid box, because some Bad Guy of the Week feels like playing games. But, I just want to say, if you can’t. If there really isn’t any way around this... save Helen. _Choose her_.”

“_No_,” Helen immediately protests, aghast at the idea. “I’m not having you sacrifice yourself for me. And, if either of us _are _going to die for the other person’s sake, then... it should logically be me.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Liv stresses, wondering where Helen possibly got that idea from.

“Think about it, Liv – I’ve already lived a full life, before. Albeit, a lonely, frustrating one that I only sort-of remember... but I’ve still technically been alive longer than you –”

“I’m not sure you have... if we’re getting really technical about this,” Liv comments, vaguely wondering how 900 years of cryosleep _does_ square off against those 40-odd years that Helen was actually an active and awake participant in. Or how ‘magically wished back to health’ fares against ‘conveniently granted the ability to regenerate’. None of it matters, though. There’s no power in any universe that could stop her saving Helen’s life, if she has the option to. Even if it meant... even if it meant the end of her own, in a way there’s no coming back from. “And that’s _not_ how we’re deciding this. It’s not about who’s lived longer, or who’s living on more borrowed time, or anything. You’ve already nearly died on me _twice_. I’ve already mourned you, once before. I can’t do it, again. Not for real.”

“You think I can? I’ve mourned you too, remember?”

“I know. But it’s _my turn_,” she emphasizes. As if it’s the sort of thing that can be taken in turns.

“Not really. And your turn to what, exactly? Nobly sacrifice yourself, and make me miss you, every day?” Helen retorts. “I care about you, more than anyone I’ve ever met. I can’t let you do that. Not for me. And – besides, the universe needs you more than me. You know that. You’ve always been so much better, so much more useful –”

“Helen, no – no, that isn’t true. You know it’s not true. You’re incredible. How many times has it been _you _coming up with the clever idea that saves us all? You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known. I... wish I’d had a bit more time to know you longer.”

“I feel the same...” Helen says, quietly. Almost like she’s reading all of the unsaid things on Liv’s face, right then.

So many unsaid things she should have said, long ago. Things like telling Helen how she really feels about her – how attracted to and possibly, no, _certainly_, in love with her she is.

Then again, it’s one thing to lose a close friend. If they’d been more than that, if she’d left Helen dealing with _that_ kind of loss, too...

No, some things are better left unsaid, right now. They’d only make it worse.

And then Helen casts a certain, resolved look, up at that speaker.

“Doctor, I want you to save Liv,” Helen tells him. “Do you remember that thing we talked about, that time? Maybe this – is something I can do. How I can be a bit more than I used to be.”

“_No_. You’re saving Helen,” Liv orders. “Don’t you dare think of saving me, instead of her –”

She’s cut off, by the return of the unknown voice, again.

“Time’s up, Doctor,” whoever it is declares. “What will it be?”

“I’ve made my choice. Liv, I’m sorry about this, but you’ll only feel it for a second...”

She doubts that very much – though, people usually do lose consciousness fairly quickly, when they’re being burnt alive, don’t they?

She can’t say it’s relief, that passes through her. Actually, this feels like it’s going to be one of the more terrible ways to die. And she really would rather not die, at all. Because there are still so many things she wants to do – and all of this is terrible and wrong and not how it should have gone, at all. But at least Helen will live. At least she’ll have that.

“It’s alright. Don’t be sorry. Okay, maybe _do _be a little sorry you couldn’t get us both out of here. And if there’s any way to still do that, try and do that instead... but, it’s been good. It’s been the best, and I...” Liv says, in a rush – but finds herself caught off guard by how, as she looks deep into Helen’s eyes, and at her beautiful face, there’s not a sight she’d rather see, if this has to be the last thing she ever will. “Helen, I –”

_Don’t tell her_, she wills herself, despite wanting to make those bold last confessions quite badly. _Don’t tell her, and then leave her...that isn’t fair._

She hears something mechanical churning on, and hissing through the ceiling. Liv braces for the pain of it, but there’s an odd tingling sensation crawling through her skin, instead. In less than a breath, her vision of Helen and the cell she’s in disappears. Replaced by some kind of small, darkly lit room with control panels and computers and monitors and the Doctor, standing beside a set of buttons and _no_, no he didn’t just do that...

“You were supposed to pick Helen!” Liv manages out, through a tightening, awful feeling in her throat. Like the entire world she’s found for herself has suddenly shattered. It feels too surreal to process. Helen can’t have just died, like that. What would possess him? What gave him the right? She’d _told _him. _He’d_ told her... “You said you were picking her!”

“No. I said I was sorry for something you’d feel, for a second,” he says, which isn’t helpful or clear. Then, he steers her attention to the monitor that’s currently switched on. “Liv, look. At what she’s doing.”

“Being on fire?” Liv utters, when all she sees is a wash of orange flames, filling the entire cell. Why does he want her to _watch_ it happen? And then it hits her... there’s something definitely unusual about the way those flames are behaving. “No... those flames look. Frozen? They’re frozen in place. She’s still alive?”

This time, a proper, immense relief comes. Helen’s fine.

Liv’s never actually seen her use those abilities of hers, before – but there’s something captivating about it. A bit magical. And there she is, the woman she loves – saving herself.

“Still perfectly alive,” the Doctor says, with something of a proud grin, then moves a little closer to the microphone end of a communications device. “How are you doing, in there?”

“A bit hot, but mostly fine. Though, I don’t know how long I can keep this up for...” Helen replies, and Liv’s still getting over the fact that she’d really thought, for a few moments, that she’d never hear that sound again. “You do have some kind of plan on your end, as well?”

“Yes, Helen, of course I do. Just hang on a little longer while I re-loop the transmit and extend the field just a touch wider, like so...” the Doctor springs to action, unhinging and fiddling and re-wiring bits of the console – now that they’re out of the woods of being at the whims of some madman with a spontaneous combustion button of his own.

“Was that always your plan? That Helen’s abilities would kick in, and save her?” Liv asks, and receives a sort of shifty non-reply she can read right through. “...You didn’t have any plan at all, until Helen did, did you?”

“I was never going to let either of you die, I know that... but yes, we are very lucky that Helen Sinclair is everything she is.”

The Doctor hits the same button, again, and Helen materializes quite suddenly beside Liv. She’s flushed, and sweating, and shaken but smiling at the same time, and Liv pulls her into a tight embrace.

“You could have let _me _in on the plan, you know_,_” Liv says, quiet and close to Helen’s ear. She does feel hot – like any person who’s just been standing in a glorified furnace _would_. But she’s here, every part of her, and Liv can’t help but kiss into her neck. If only because it’s the part of her skin that’s currently closest. "Save me thinking I had to make a few good last words, and all."

“It had to look real,” Helen says. “If – whoever that was – thought something was up, it might not have worked. He might have decided to roast _you_, instead. I couldn’t let that happen. What were you going to say, anyway? Before you were cut off?”

There’s soft curiosity, to Helen’s question, and a set of fingers touching at Liv’s cheek, as Helen regards her.

“You know what it was,” Liv replies. And there’s a part of her that still refrains from wanting to say it – as if saying it aloud might be pushing their luck. But she also can’t bare not to, not holding her and watching Helen look at her like that. Just like she can’t bare not to press her lips to Helen’s just then, here in the middle of this strange dark viewing room. And Helen, it seems, can’t bare not to start kissing her back, with even more fervor than Liv was expecting. “I love you, alright? A lot. And might like to actually go more than two weeks without thinking you’ve died, one of these days.”

“It’s not like I do it, on purpose –” Helen starts to claim, before the noise of the Doctor typing something swiftly into a keypad on the console draws them back to the more pressing matter of finding and thwarting this brand-new foe. She looks over towards him. “Who was that, anyway? We didn’t see who put us in there.”

“It’s not another Master, is it?” Liv wonders, hoping not. Sure, there’s the upside of dealing with a _familiar_ enemy, but she’d thought they were finished with him, for a while.

“Someone new...” he muses, trying to discern some useful information from the electronics in front of him. "But it looks like I can get a trace on where he is.”

Liv sees the data on the screen as well. It's a fancy sort of office building on the other side of London.

Just before they dash off in persuit, she feels Helen’s hand catch into hers. Wearing that same elated look she’s had, ever since Liv kissed her. “I’m quite in love with you, too. Just, so you know.”


	10. I think we're alone, now? - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, um... it being a universal fact that 'Liv flying things is hot', this came to be.

“You really _can_ fly anything,” Helen admires, as the room she and Liv are standing in finally stops shuddering and the view beyond the front windows is back to being nothing but clear black empty, and the odd distant star.

“Most ships designed by humans are basically the same,” Liv explains. Keying in a few more orders on the screens with such know-how, even though the ship is from at least three centuries into her future. Not that she’d had much choice but to spring into action, as she had. Given the fact that the vessel’s _real_ pilot had turned out to be a murderous saboteur, and nobody else on board had the first clue how to get them all out of there, alive (except for the Doctor, probably – but he’d been busy a few decks down, keeping a _different_ situation from getting out of hand.)

“Still – you got us out of an asteroid field that was supposed to kill everyone on board. It’s impressive,” Helen remarks. It always is, watching Liv fly something. And sometimes, Helen can’t help privately think, It’s almost like the narrower escape they make, the more it makes Helen, well... want to do things to Liv that they never really have the time for, what with the landing usually being followed by some more running, fighting, escaping, and general dodging-of-death.

(Although, she _has _made good on those urges more than a few times, once they’d been back aboard the TARDIS...)

“Come here.” Liv motions, and Helen gladly finds herself stepping in closer. Yet, not without the slight problem of wanting very badly to lean in and kiss those soft lips of hers. The way Liv’s got her hand on Helen’s hip doesn't help matters, either. Still, she tries to focus in on the various dials and knobs that Liv points out. “Those control the thrust, stabilizers, and shielding. And, well, obviously that’s steering.”

She gestures at the half-wheel that she’d previously been commanding. Gently but precisely easing the ship through precarious gaps and jarring turns.

“Are you trying to teach me how to fly it?”

“Maybe? But you should know the basics, in case you ever have to,” Liv says, and it does seem a good idea. “If you can fly the TARDIS –”

“... I can fly a scientific research vessel from the 33rd Century?” Helen assumes that’s where Liv’s headed with that. Although, the TARDIS did take her ages to figure out, and she has no idea whether or not she could do it again, with any success. Still, at least the readouts on the panel before them are written in English. She watches, as Liv reaches to touch a square green button, on the corner of one of the screens. “What does that do?”

“Auto-pilot. Now that we’re back on course,” Liv says, decidedly convinced she can take a bit of a break from having to manually tell the ship what to do. A break that seems to involve the roaming of her fingers up beneath Helen’s top, just a little. Not going too far, least someone walk in – but still there, against her skin, like she can read every thought running through Helen’s mind.

“Am I really so obvious?” She can feel a certain blush creeping into her cheeks, despite herself.

“The undressing-me-with-your-eyes thing? Uh, kind of,” Liv admits, smiling at her. She does it, too, though – all the time.

Helen’s own fingers toy at the lowest button of Liv’s shirt, stopping just short of undoing it. She leans in, her lips brushing against Liv’s neck, just below her ear. “Only because I can’t undress you with my hands, right now...”

Despite saying this, she pries the button loose. Carrying on towards the second. They’re not _really_ going to get that far with this, Helen knows that. Any moment now, there’ll be an alarm. Or the doors to this room will slide open, unexpectedly. Something like that.

But, surely they can kiss – briefly – and Helen’s mouth moves along her skin, ducking beneath Liv’s jaw, eliciting that breathy sound that only makes Helen want to take her time exploring every inch of her. Starting with the way Liv’s tongue feels against her own, all frantic heat and adrenaline as Liv kisses her back. Her hand loosening more errant strands of blonde as it weaves into Helen’s updo, drawing her in even further.

And, _oh, god_, Liv can kiss. It’s a fact Helen’s known for a few weeks, now – since that evening after Salzburg. Every time, it’s like some electric euphoria surging through her. Making her lose sight of her surroundings, entirely. Wrapped up in nothing but the feeling of this extraordinary woman, against her.

Her lower back comes flush with the side of the console, while she takes the opportunity to trace the curve of Liv’s astoundingly nice behind, through the clinging denim. With every second, Helen can feel herself dampening – so close to giving into that need to slide her hand around, delve right in, and make Liv come apart. Over and over again.

A comm crackles to life, to their left. Because of course it does – and Helen finds herself muffling a good deal of poorly-timed laughter into Liv’s shoulder, while the other woman relays some level of a coherent status update to the inquiring crewman.

Alright – _later_.

Later, Helen will drive Liv towards every possible height, and more. For now, she will at least _try_ to refrain herself. Difficult as that may be...

Especially when Liv’s now looking at her like _that_.


	11. Seabreeze Motel - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the times Liv has un-intentionally woken up beside Helen this week, this is by far the best... and hopefully, the start of something long in the making.

Liv awakes to a distant clanging noise – like many small bells, racketing in the breeze. She shifts, slowly opening her eyes, and finds her face to be rather close to a shoulder she instantly recognizes as Helen’s. Her arm is slung comfortably across her friend’s waist, too – and it takes Liv a drowsy moment to realize that this isn’t exactly their usual way of starting out the day.

If it can even be called ‘day’, yet. It’s barely light out – cooler than it had been the day before, judging from the air drifting in through the window, still heavily infused with the scent of wet kelp.

A small, squid-like creature passes by, just outside the glass. Propelling itself through the humidity as if sliding through water. That’s how she’d wound up on Helen’s bed, last night – watching the lights of several fishing vessels drop down into the inky bay across the street, their nets likely full of catch. Her own bed, a few feet away in the small motel room, looks largely untouched, save for the jacket lumped in the middle of the faded duvet. Shed about the second they’d stepped out of the TARDIS and into the seaside village.

Aiming to muffle the chimes, she reaches over to shut the window – causing Helen to stir, beneath her.

“Did we fall asleep?” She wonders, after a moment – a slight confusion apparent in her heavy eyes, as they glance up at Liv.

“It looks like it.” Liv budges the stubborn old pane along the frame, and drops back down against part of the pillow. Noticing that neither of them had even changed out of the clothes they’d been wearing the day before.

She should probably go back to her own bed, or get up and see what sort of complimentary caffeine is in that basket over by the sink and kettle. Probably. But the urge to continue lying here, beside Helen, is also overwhelmingly strong.

And it does make a nice change from waking up beside Helen in, say, a prison cell. Or in locked office, on the 98th floor of a shady corporation that’s about three minutes away from blowing up their own headquarters in some desperate attempt to hide the evidence and kill the witnesses. Or while tied up, in the middle of one _highly_ creepy forest, thanks to some... well, she wasn’t a witch, exactly. But also, she was basically a witch, with a taste for human flesh and a cauldron on the boil.

(And all of _those_ enjoyable events were just this week, alone.)

“What time is it?” Helen asks, sitting up to have a peek outside. Her hair falling in the most adorably messy waves, long past her shoulders.

“Early.” Reluctantly, Liv sits up a bit as well, spying a small shred of deep red and bright gold, on the horizon. Over by the docks, down the street a little, she can see the silhouette of the TARDIS. Last they knew, the Doctor had been in the midst of doing some kind of repair that involved fiddling with some kind of energy that was potentially not great for humans to be standing too close to. 

(But safe enough to do it while parked beside a busy wharf, presumably...)

Wondering if he might be done, yet, Liv moves to get up. “Did you want tea?”

“When it’s not _dawn_,” Helen draws her back in, and pillows her face against Liv’s chest. Closing her eyes, and fully curling into her.

_So, this is thing that’s happening..._

She wonders if Helen can feel how much her heart has picked up racing, right now. In a good way, though – because it’s a good thing, that’s happening. And a thing Liv could really find herself getting used to. 


	12. Night One - M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shower sex, at Baker Street. 
> 
> I heard the preview of Stranded and was inspired. Might not actually line up with canon, when the full story comes out... but so far there's nothing to suggest they *didn't* immediately shag in a hot shower, the moment they were alone that night, right?

“Brilliant. I own one shirt, and it’s covered in bullet holes,” Liv notices – inspecting the garment in her hands. Five of them, scattered throughout the front of it. She’d worn clothes in worse states, of course – for a lot longer. Still, not exactly the sort of thing you’d like to turn up for, say, a job interview in. Although, she supposed the whole ‘I have absolutely zero qualifications from this planet, and also I haven’t technically even been born yet’ thing was going to be the bigger obstacle. If and when it came to that.

Filing that away as a problem for another day, she drops the shirt on the foot of the bed.

“At least it’s just the shirt,” Helen says, looking over at her from her recline against the headboard.

“Oh, it’s part of my bra, too,” she replies, toying at the frayed black edges, directly above her heart. She _liked_ this bra.

“You know what I mean.” Helen shifts down towards her, and rises to run the tips of her fingers over the smooth skin beneath. Free of any indication Liv had been shot there, at all – save for Liv’s own memory of the particularly painful experience, earlier that day.

Helen’s hand drifts over the curve of her breast, teasingly, paying certain attention to her nipple, through the fabric, before slowly gliding down her stomach. And then she pulls away. Leaving Liv missing her touch, already. How long has it even been, since they’d had a moment alone like this? Free of something trying to eat them – or some murderous Time Lord or another attempting to kill them? “I was going to go take a shower...”

“Didn’t we all just do that?” Liv remarks, recalling the long trek through the torrential downpour. She’s only just started to finally dry off.

“A _hot_ shower.” Helen’s lips press against her neck, just below her ear.

“Good luck with that. I don’t think I remember this place doing more than a brief ‘lukewarm’.”

Still, as Helen’s mouth carries on, kissing at the base of her neck, and across her shoulder, Liv finds herself more than taken by the idea. Already working at stripping Helen of her own top, as well. It’s only the fact that there is still a small stretch of hallway between this room and the bathroom that keeps her from pulling it off, entirely. And forces her to pause to shrug her own shirt back on, as well.

It comes right back off again, the moment the door shuts behind them. Shed carelessly on the countertop, somewhere half-atop the sink, as her lips crush against Helen’s. Pinning the taller woman against the door.

She works open the button of Helen’s jeans – wondering if she quite has the patience to wait until they’re actually _in_ the shower, before making Helen come apart. She wonders if Helen does, either – when she slips beneath the quickly-undone trousers, and finds her to be _quite_ aroused. Even more so, when she moves her hand in a way she knows Helen likes. Causing short gasps to be caught between them.

The rest of their clothes quickly fall away, pooling on the bathroom tiles, as they move towards the shower – Liv fumbling for the knob behind her.

Helen’s right about this being a good idea, Liv thinks, when the heated water hits her. Caressing muscles that have been battered by falling rocks and rubble, torn through by bolts of metal, then regenerated back to peak condition over and over again. Regenerated to the point of exhaustion, by the time it stopped being a thing she could do.

Helen’s right – and stunning, as always. It’s hard to tear her eyes off the gentle tone of her abdomen. Nor the way the streams of water roll down and over her breasts. Or the way she grins with joy, just before seizing the opportunity to rake a hand back through Liv’s hair, and kiss her beneath the waterfall of temporary warmth.

“I can’t get over how good you look, wet,” Helen says. And Liv, for her part, can definitely attest to feeling _wet_ in more ways than one, right now.

“Was _that_ what this was about?” 

“Well, possibly... or, I may have spent the past several days sleeping on a forest floor, and just happened to fancy a shower,” Helen says, just as Liv feels a pleasant pressure against her clit. “With you.”

Her back makes contact with the shower wall, Helen’s skilled fingers working to make her feel incredible, while her other hand traces slowly across and around her breasts. As if taking her time to discover every inch of them, all over again.

Two fingers slide through slick folds and push inside of her. It's not long before Helen has her right on the edge. So close, so awash with building pleasure that it's growing hard to stay standing. And _definitely_ hard stay quiet enough not to be overheard by anyone but Helen.

She muffles a particularly loud moan into the base of Helen's neck, as she comes. Then comes again, quickly after – so intense that, for that spare moment in time, it feels like there's nothing else in the universe but this beautiful woman pressed against her, doing ridiculously good things to her.

It takes a while for Liv to get her bearings back, again. Clinging to Helen as water that’s ticking just a bit closer towards cold rains down on them.

She nudges the knob a touch, to get it warmer, before threading her fingers through the long, soaking blonde locks before her. "See what I meant?"

"My old flat was like that, too. _And_ the knob liked to fall off."

Knowing they don't have long before there's no heat left in the boiler at all, Liv wastes no time swapping their positions. Sweeping Helen's hair to the side, and drawing a series of hungry kisses down the back of her neck, and shoulder blades – while Helen eagerly parts her legs, so ready.

Still, Liv indulges in roaming over every curve. Tracing the definition of her muscles, and the peaks of her nipples. She gets so carried away that it prompts a small, amused chuckle. "_Are_ you going to do something, before this shower gets too cold to stand in?"

"Hmm. I might..." She teases, drawing a fingertip very, very slowly along the crux of Helen's thigh. Then back down, along the inside of one leg.

"Liv, please..." Helen utters – _begs_ – with need.

She's even wetter than before, and rocks into Liv's touch, when Liv happily complies. Soon, she’s practically shuddering – and then she _is_. Hitting her peak, before riding out the many waves of aftershocks that Liv sends through her, as she gradually comes down. Turning back around in Liv’s arms to face her, again. Looking all sort of blissful and relaxed and gorgeous as always.

Helen drops a long kiss to Liv’s lips, that Liv would gladly linger in for even longer, if it weren’t for the shower being just about through with providing hot water, for a while.

Still, there is a bed not far away, if they want to keep going... there _is_ that.


	13. Diversion - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which my attempt to give a plausible reason for a scene in which Liv is wearing a pair of glasses like the ones Nicola wore in that charity video a month or so ago and Helen finds it hot turns into the beginnings of something plotty.

“Well, they’re not in here,” Liv decides, after a thorough sweep of the small library through the black-rimmed glasses the Doctor had given her – the ones that, supposedly, should make these creatures visible. “That’s one more room down... about two-hundred to go?”

It was one of those massive old manor homes, somewhere in the English countryside. Full of way more floors and rooms and wings than any one family, no matter how esteemed and wealthy, probably even used on a regular basis. Which also made it a very convenient hiding place for inter-dimensional beings to hang out and, just occasionally, pop up and drag off unsuspecting dinner guests and staff members. Or so the rumors went.

“It’d be quicker of we both had a pair of those,” Helen observes.

“ Did you want to take over?” Liv offers. They keep slipping down her face, anyway. She pushes them back up for what feels like tenth time in the last few minutes.

“No, that’s alright...” Helen backtracks, and there’s something there, as she looks at Liv, that’s anything but subtle. Liv knows that look. Usually, it ends up with Helen’s hands roaming all over her – being thoroughly kissed, explored, and more.

Although, usually, that happens much later. When they’re back in the TARDIS. Dropping whatever fancily impractical outfits of yesteryear they’ve donned back off in the wardrobe room. Or while lounging around, in-between trips. She’s certainly been kissed up against their own ship’s bookshelves, enough times.

What Liv doesn’t expect is for it to happen right _now._ For, at the creak of an opening door, Liv to very suddenly feel the press of Helen’s lips against hers. Moving with a heated urgency, while the fingers of one hand slip and curl into the back pocket of Liv’s jeans.

They break apart to the unnaturally-loud clearing of the head butler’s throat, and a demand to know what the two of them think they’re doing in here – in a room that is strictly (and, in Liv’s opinion, _suspiciously_) out of bounds to all guests and staff.

“Sorry, we just... wanted a bit of privacy. Got carried away.” Helen feigns an innocent apology. “Is it really out of bounds? It wasn’t locked.”

The butler frowns, at that news. That they had, as Helen had claimed, found the door to this library compliantly unlocked. Which they actually had. Thankful for that – since the Doctor had the sonic with him, and Liv’s usual methods might be a bit attention-drawing, even in this place.

“Why _is_ it out of bounds?” Liv asks him. “Are they valuable books? Rare ones you don’t want people damaging?”

For a room with an ominous sign attached to the door, it had been rather mundane. It wasn’t even a big library. Just a couple of tall shelves and some armchairs.

“That... is none of your business.” He decrees, firmly.

“Right... of course it’s not,” Liv says, unconvinced but aiming to play along. For now. “Well, we’ll just be going, now. Plenty of other rooms in this place to ‘get carried away’ in.”

They leave as quickly as he’s keen to usher them out.

“You’re really have a thing for these glasses...” Liv teases, once they’re quietly out of earshot.

“I had to!” Helen insists, with a laugh. “It would have looked suspicious, if we were just standing there... although, now that I think of it, two women kissing in the early 1950’s isn’t the most inconspicuous thing, is it?”

“I have no idea,” Liv admits. “He did seem to care more about whoever unlocked that door before us than the fact we were there.”

“I noticed,” Helen contemplates. “It was a strange collection, they had in there. I know I haven’t heard of every book on earth – but I hadn’t heard of any of those. They all looked rather old, too...”

“Alien books, then?” That actually made a lot of sense. “Of course. Why wouldn’t there be? Oh, this better not be one of those ‘the books are secretly the missing people’ things...”

“The... what?” Helen asks, taken for a pause by what Liv just said.

“Something the Doctor mentioned running into, before,” she tells her. He’d only said it in passing. Though, it hadn’t been the most reassuring thing to hear, while deep in the bowels of an ancient alien library. And wasn’t the most reassuring thing to think about, right now. But, today’s problem was probably just invisible monsters from another dimension. Much easier to deal with.

Provided they could actually find them, somewhere in this enormous place, before they stole away with anyone else...

And, provided the butler guarding the room of odd, possibly-alien books wasn’t secretly in on it, or behind the whole thing. Which was a brand-new possibility to look into, too... and looking more and more likely, the more Liv considered it.

“We’re breaking into that room again later, aren’t we?” Helen presumes, as if reading Liv’s very thoughts.

“Oh, we’re definitely going back in there. A forbidden room full of alien books, in a house where people are getting kidnapped by aliens? That can’t be coincidence...”


	14. Long Haul - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spaceship concepts borrowed from First Action Bureau, which Nicola is briefly in (though, not for as many episodes as I would have liked or expected.)
> 
> Anyway, the following fic is just a loosely-borrowed concept from the series, and not at all actually related to First Action Bureau.

“Are you alright?”

Liv seems to sense her nerves, the second they break atmosphere, and the announcement rings out. Five minutes, until some sort of... mandatory period of falling asleep, for ten days?

“Not really,” Helen admits, shrugging off all pretense of being calm about this, at all.

“It’s only ten days. That’s nothing.” Her fingers slip into Helen’s, on the armrest between their seats. She knows she’s being so... _twentieth century_... about the whole thing, but there’s something incredibly comforting, about the way Liv’s thumb rides across the back of her hand. “Like falling asleep for a couple hours, on one of your old planes.”

A small laugh escapes Helen. She’s certain she’s mentioned it to Liv, in the past – but the fact is, she’s actually been on more _spaceships_, for a very brief amount of time, than she’s ever been on any kind of long-haul flights on her home planet. In fact, she’s been on approximately _zero_ earth-bound airplanes. They were perfectly available, in her era - just. But she'd never had the money, or the opportunity.

“I wouldn’t know what that’s like. When I was a child, people still spent weeks on boats, just to cross one ocean. I could easily spend ten days reading a few good books... maybe, catching up on some films and television shows?” she says, in some spare hope that that could be the case here – if she’s willing and wants to, enough. The more she thinks about it, the more Helen grows uncomfortable with the idea of what’s about to happen. She’s had very _few_ experiences, being rendered unconscious against her will... but every single one of those either involved Rykerzon, or some psychopath with a ludicrous plot to kill entire galaxies. Helen sighs. “It is safe, I suppose? Going that long without food or water?”

“It’s sort of a suspended animation thing, far as I can figure out. Cheaper to do that, than feed and entertain us. Apparently,” Liv tells her. The loudspeaker comes on again, directing them to take their seats, and telling them about the procedure. In the midst of it, she feels her arm being moved – and a kiss being pressed to her wrist.

She knows they’ve been flirting a bit more, lately, but it’s still surprising. And nice. _Really _nice.

There’s a faint touch of her tongue – the tip swirling across Helen’s pulse – before all that’s left is an echo of it. A blow of air con, highlighting the mark of her lips.

She wants to reciprocate. To pull any part of Liv back towards her. But the more she stares at the pattern of bright lights above, the more she is _so... tired... _

_..._

Helen awakes, to a gentle squeeze of her hand. “I think we’re here.”

“Already?” Helen blearily remarks. Followed by a churn of her stomach that feels like the culmination of about five New Years Eves. “I feel like I’m going to be ill.”

“It’ll pass.” There’s a wet kiss, to her knuckles, and she glances over at Liv.

“Is it going to pass _soon_?” The moment the words are out of Helen’s mouth, there’s an annoyingly cheery announcement, welcoming them to Axbraxia Six. Home of great mineral wealth, and theme parks. And also, flight attendants without any respect for their passengers’ emerging headaches. “Why is that so loud?”

She shifts onto her side, screwing her face up against the headrest. Wondering if anyone else aboard feels quite as suddenly awful. Or if they’re all used to this – having, probably, been through this wringer before. 

Helen feels a portion of her fringe being brushed aside, along with a few longer strands of hair. She opens her eyes, spying a concerned set of blue, staring back at her. After a few breaths, the sensation does sort of quell, slightly.

Enough so that’s she’s able to catch her fingers into Liv’s, and drop a tired, grateful touch of her lips to the back of Liv’s palm. Her mind swims. It feels like ten _minutes_ ago, not ten days, since she’d last thought of wanting to do that. All the same... she could really do with a good cup of tea, and any possible type of breakfast. “Please tell me we won’t have to do this again, on the way back?”

Liv offers a sympathetic smile, but doesn’t have time to answer – as the ship suddenly shudders to a landing rocky enough to jog anyone to full-alert.

“Okay... time to find an elusive legendary gemstone. That’s possibly hidden in this galaxy’s most crowded theme park,” Helen reiterates the mission, gathering herself. Bracing herself just a bit against Liv, as they stand in wait to join the growing queue in the aisles. “Because of course the fate of a completely separate planet depends on it.”

Really, though, as Liv’s arm comes around her waist to steady her, she can’t think of anyone else she’d rather embark on yet another desperate quest with.


	15. Hayat Kisa - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the end of Fairytale of Salzburg. In which there is much to do about crackers, apparently... and Helen takes advantage of an opportunity.

Helen’s just sat down in the living room, nearly through another glass of home-mulled Glühwein, when she feels an arm come around her shoulders. She doesn't even have to look, to know it belongs to Liv – who's come to perch against the armrest of the sofa, beside her. Leaning quite a lot into Helen, and Helen tries not to be _too_ distracted by how much she enjoys the closeness. Or, by how adorable Liv looks in the paper crown that’s currently perched on her head, falling halfway down her fringe. The pale blue of it almost mirroring the shade of her eyes, which are alight with warmth as Liv presses a small, clear-plastic parcel containing something silver into Helen’s palm.

“I'm supposed to get you something for this Christmas thing – traditionally?” she aims to confirm.

“You wished me back to _life_, last night. I think we’re more than good,” Helen assures. Really, she can’t possibly think of a better gift than that. Of still getting to be here with Liv and everyone else, at all.

Still, Helen opens the tiny parcel and withdraws the contents. A pair of earrings – with a trio of small silver stars dangling from a delicate chain. Catching the colorful lights of the nearby tree, as she beholds them.

“They’re beautiful... Thank you.” Helen beams – immediately sliding them on. She can’t see what she looks like in them – though, she can see a certain look on Liv’s face. The kind that tells Helen they probably _do_ suit her. And well. A slight feeling of guilt flickers through her. If she’d known they were going to be doing presents, she’d have got something for Liv, as well. “When did you...?”

“About a minute ago,” Liv tells her. “I won them from one of those crackers. Thought you might like them. Since you actually have pierced ears, and all...”

“Oh... well, in that case,” Helen rummages into her pocket – actually a bit relieved that the earrings, pretty as they are, are only a cracker prize. As that’s all she has to offer, either. Her fingers land upon a small, black plastic case she’d won much earlier in the day, while Liv and the Doctor were out. She passes it over to Liv. “They’re not exactly sonic, but...”

“Useful,” Liv finishes, prying off the lid to reveal a set of miniature screwdrivers. And a few other tiny tools. She seems genuinely pleased by the gift. “No, really. I can see these being a good idea. Beats that puzzle-thing the Doctor got.”

Helen peers through the small crowd between here and the kitchen, and spies the Doctor delightedly twisting something made of many small plastic triangles into the shapes of various animals. And a few spaceships.

Her eyes also land on a lone cracker, sitting amidst a spread of nuts and biscuits, on a coffee table. “Have we done one, yet?”

She downs the last of the spiced wine, and sets the glass down on the table – reaching for the cracker and holding the other end out towards Liv... who ends up winning the larger end of it, after the snap goes off. Unfortunately, all she winds up with is an overlarge paperclip. Well... they can’t all be great prizes.

Sliding an extra hat out of the tube, Liv fishes out the paper bit with the joke on it.

“‘How does Darth Vader like his Christmas turkey?’... ‘on the dark side’,” she reads out, with growing confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t think I do, either. I mean, I get the bit about the turkey... I’m just not sure who Darth Vader is.”

“Some other kind of Christmas demon, maybe?” Liv guesses. “It sounds like your typical villian-ey name.”

“It could be. Not one I know of, but it does basically mean _dark father_...” Helen ponders the rough translation (albeit – in two completely different languages.) It seems like it could be a dark... father Christmas figure, maybe? Another culture’s equivalent of the Krampus? Well... as long as whoever this ‘Darth Vader’ person was didn’t plan on suddenly becoming real and showing up to wreak havoc, it didn’t really matter right now. Helen turns her attention towards the rest of the slip of paper in Liv’s hand. It's difficult not to imagine... well, _other_ things her fingers could be doing. Places Liv could be touching. It’s not the first time Helen’s thought about it, if she’s being honest. “What’s the charade?”

“It says it’s a film – Love Actually. This cracker was really not designed with people from my time in mind, was it?” Liv decides. "Have you heard of it?"

“Nope." Helen hasn't. "But... I might have an idea of how to act it out."

She’d made more than a few wrong landings in various eras of Turkey’s history, over the years, and she’d learned they had a saying, there – _hayat kisa_. Life’s short. It seems ironic to think of now, given that Helen’s was anything but... and yet, it also is. She can’t imagine getting that type of second chance again. And, maybe, in _this_ life... she should take certain risks. Certain opportunities.

Opportunities like leaning over and pressing her lips to Liv’s. Finding herself taken by how soft they are – and, even more so, by the way they begin to move against Helen’s own. A surprised curiosity, that quickly turns intense. Hungry. Deepening, and Helen can’t say she’s actually aware of just when Liv went from being astride the armrest to actually being _on top_ of her. Just that, when they finally break – she is.

Fortunately, no one else in the house seems to be paying attention to them. Or, if anyone’s noticed, they’re doing a good job pretending like they hadn’t.

Striking while their privacy lasts, Helen kisses her once more. Nearly unseating the flimsy hat, as her fingers twine into Liv’s hair. Lost in the feeling of it all. She’d spent so, _so_ long wanting to do this, despite knowing she probably wouldn’t get to. It was enough to think she'd ever _see_ Liv, again. Never mind anything else.

But now... actually kissing Liv. Being kissed back, _by Liv_...

Words don’t really describe it. Though, Helen knows she'd happily keep doing it for the rest of time.

Eventually, they're being hailed for a round of _actual_ charades. Which, given that Helen's knowledge of pop culture only extends to the 1960's, Liv's probably doesn't _start_ until the 28th century, and another of the feast's guests comes from a time before the invention of the printing press, sounds like it will be... interesting, to say the least.

"Are you going to kiss me like that, during the game?" Liv teases - quietly, close to Helen's ear - as she slides into a spot on the sofa that's less _on_ Helen, and more beside. 

"Maybe..." Helen can't help return, her hand settling high on Liv's thigh, as the various chairs and couches begin to fill up. 

She does, however, plan to carry on exactly where they left off, later tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking through a list of terrible cracker jokes online for one Liv probably wouldn't get... and wound up coming across one I realized Helen wouldn't have any clue about, either. 
> 
> Also - the earrings are inspired by a pair I used to see at a place I worked at, last year. And, in my boredom, sometimes used to think shippy ficcish thoughts about Liv gifting Helen with. 
> 
> The miniature screwdriver set, is, well... an actual cracker prize I happen to own, and was really happy to win last year - thanks to Companion Piece. Although, Liv's is a bit nicer.


End file.
